Behind and Between
by AntaresTheEighthPleiade
Summary: One-shots related to my Saga of the Lightning Speaker. What happened behind and between the scenes?
1. Ultimatum

This was originally going to be the last chapter of book 2, but I decided that it fit in better here. This probably takes place in January or February 1993, right after Daphne joins the gang.

The following disclaimer applies to the _entire _document: Me no ownie. Lawyers, behold.

Edit: I just realized this morning that I'd said Saysa witnessed the Treaty of blahblah. Yeah. That was somewhat humiliating. It's fixed now.

* * *

Five wizards and a basilisk Apparated into a bank.

"Is this the right room?" wondered Hermione.

"I think so, Pallas," said Harry. "My 'source' never really had a Gringotts account- it would be a bit difficult for him to walk through the Alley every week just for a few Galleons- but this seems like the right place to me."

"It has to be," Daphne told them, a bit uncomfortable in her Fae form. "Goblin wards are phenomenal, and they only let them down to allow special visitors access to private meeting rooms. Since we were able to get in, this is obviously the correct location."

A goblin stepped into the room. "Right you are, Miss…?"

"Frost," she said, fighting back a smile, "Bianca Frost."

The goblin raised an eyebrow. "I see. I am Axshaft Swordsmasher, personal assistant to Director Ragnok." He glanced at Saysa, looked hurriedly away. "Do you wish for refreshments, my Lady?" he asked, pointedly ignoring the humans.

Saysa declined.

"Very well," Axshaft shrugged. "Before you meet with Director Ragnok, are there any services that we of Gringotts could provide? Vaults, security consultation, preferred customer status…."

In the next hour, Axshaft and Saysa (the humans were still ignored) engaged in some good old-fashioned haggling. The basilisk wanted a vault, personal tutors in Gobbledook and Mermish for her humans, increased security on Founders' Isle, and for the goblins to spread the word of the Speaker's coming to their other inhuman allies. She also wanted a cup from the vault of one Bellatrix Lestrange. That, of course, led into a discussion of Horcruxes and their mission to take down Voldemort (she conveniently neglected to mention how they knew about the foul artifacts).

In return, the goblins had two very odd requests: her memories and her venom.

Saysa stared. "Pardon?"

"Basilisk venom is one of the deadliest substances known to goblinkind," Axshaft explained. "As such, it is incredibly valuable. Also, it has practical purposes. We want to imbue our guards' blades with a combination of your venom and a weakening agent so that whoever is scratched by one is automatically Petrified. This would contribute greatly to the security of our bank.

"Now let me explain the memories. We possess something called a Pensieve, one of only six in the British Isles (though wizards believe there are only five). Since you are a witness to the Treaty of the Wood, your experiences are literally priceless. My Lady, in the thousand years you have walked this land, you've talked with the Founders, negotiated a powerful peace treaty, and witnessed key moments of history. That is why we ask for a copy of your memories." He hesitated. "Of course, your comrades would be welcome to the Pensieve as well."

Saysa frowned pensively. She glanced at Harry, or more specifically at his scar. Her lips tilted. "Done and done, Master Axshaft."

The goblin looked relieved. "Excellent, my Lady. Shall we schedule another appointment to fulfill this bargain?"

She nodded. "Next week at the same time?"

"Excellent. Our representative will bring the cup and the Pensieve."

As though Saysa's agreement were a signal, a pair of heavily armed and armored guards walked into the room. "Director Ragnok will see you now," they intoned.

It was an old tactic: make the petitioners wait, make them come to you. It left no doubt about who was the dominant partner. The goblins knew that they owed Saysa, but they wanted to remind her that they'd only promised to meet Harry, nothing more.

She really should have been more forceful, all those years ago.

As they walked through the corridors of Gringotts, Harry began a conversation in Parseltongue. **"Do you think I could contribute some memories as well?" **

"**Why would you want to?" **

The young wizard tapped his forehead. **"Because Voldemort's memories are an incredible advantage, and I don't know if I'll still have them after the Horcrux is removed. Besides, this way I can introduce everyone to combat situations and familiarize them with his strategies without putting them in danger." **

"**A good idea. I shall ask." **She did, but Axshaft's only reply was to take it up with Ragnok.

They stopped before huge gates of iron and granite. The metal was shaped into dragons and goblins intertwined, the stone intricately carved with perfect miniatures of scenes from goblin history. It was beautiful, but its beauty was cold and imposing and warlike. The two guards took up their position on either side of the gate, gesturing at their guests to stop. Axshaft kept walking.

"Her Majesty, Lady Saysa of the Chamber, Queen of Serpents, Mistress of the Prophecies, Servant of the Four, Friend of the Nations." Taking that as her cue, Saysa walked into the chamber, head held high.

"Master Alexander Chamberlain, First Among Lions, Swordsman, the Prince of Flowers."

"First Among Lions?" Neville wondered quietly. He decided it was a prophecy he hadn't heard before and walked inside.

"Madame Bianca Frost, Maid of Water, Cloud-Gatherer, the Daughter of Frost." A few chuckles came from the meeting room as Daphne walked inside.

"Master Apollo Peverell, Enemy of Both Sides, Dream-Seer, the Smoking Mirror."

"Madame Pallas Dhar, Heiress of Salazar Slytherin, Maker of the Wards, Truth's Messenger."

There was a pause.

"Master Pollux Riddle, Stormson, Moon Lord, the Lightning Speaker." Squaring his shoulders, Harry walked inside

He instantly realized that Ragnok wasn't the only important personage present. The goblin dignitary was there, of course, and he occupied the seat of honor, but with him were a dwarf and a lovely young woman who could only be a veela. He fought back a blush. The veela was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, except perhaps the Winter Queen herself.

The dwarf was introduced as Lord Baffur Bouldershoulders, and his veela counterpart was Lady Estella Papillion. Ragnok himself sat between them.

Harry bowed three times to them before taking his seat. Their stares made him uncomfortable, but he didn't look away. Head held high, the Lightning Speaker met the director's eyes. Ragnok nodded slowly.

Saysa rose to speak. "Many years ago, your ancestors vowed that when the Lightning Speaker came, their descendents would meet with him. They thought me mad, as, perhaps, did you, yet here he sits. The Speaker has come, and with him his four companions. Here and now, you fulfill the promises of your predecessors.

"And now I ask you not only to fulfill those promises, but to surpass them. Give the Speaker your aid. It is not a heavy yoke you would put on, but the mantle of an equal partnership. Already the centaurs and the Fae have joined our alliance- and if you doubt me, look at their forms! All five are covered in the Winter Queen's own glamor. If you doubt me, speak to your centaur friends, for my companions have wandered among them for months.

"Think of the farmer toiling in his fields. He labors long and hard, it is true, but think of how great his reward shall be! When the harvest comes, he and his shall feast on the fruit of their labor. I do not even call for that farmer's devotion, only for the promise of aid and training when needed. Yet I must assure you, even those who do not stand with us will sup at that feast- we do not blackmail you. Instead, we extend to you an invitation to join in that feast with the satisfaction that you yourselves helped create it.

"I know that you are people of honor. You do not take what you have not earned, and I know that, if you do sit down at that feast without contributing, the guilt will burn your hearts. Come work with us, as honor and destiny beg you to do. Give the support of your nations, for with each soul that pledges, the feast grows so much more abundant.

"And so I ask of you- naye, I _beg_!- to stand beside us. Work with the farmer in the field, help us fight for your children. We will not threaten, we will not destroy you for saying no. Instead, we simply ask you what is best for your people: this stagnant 'freedom' of poverty and shame, or the brighter tomorrow promised in the prophecies? Think well, my lords and lady, and choose wisely, for anyone's denial may blight the harvest. Stand with us, that the whole world may feast."

Silence, save for the echoing of Saysa's words. Tears stung Harry's eyes, but he blinked them away. How long had she worked on that speech? How many cold, lonely hours had she spent in the Chamber with nothing but hope to keep her warm?

"A lovely speech, my Lady," murmured Papillion respectfully. "'Twould take a heart of stone to deny you." She sighed. "Yet in this time, every leader bears granite in her breast."

"We do not deny you outright," Ragnok explained, and Harry realized that the meeting had only been for show. The three leaders before him had already made up their minds. "We have nothing but respect for you, but these five humans have not proved themselves. Yes, they rescued a few young witches, and yes, the centaurs and Fae believe, but centaurs live in their precious stars and the Fae are more than half mad. They needed no more assurances, but we do."

"Fulfill the prophecies," rumbled Bouldershoulders. "Specifically, the cycle referring to curing lycanthropy. We will teach you our tongues and histories, but until you have proved beyond doubt that you are the Lightning Speaker and that you do care for the races, we will not follow you."

_We will not follow you._ The words seemed made of ice, freezing Harry's heart. _We will not follow you, Horcrux child, mad outcast with a fool's mission. You cannot break the world, you cannot save your brother. _

The thought of Mark pulled him up short. He was still furious with the other Potter, but he still loved him. He still wanted to make up, but he'd given up. It seemed that Dumbledore was too powerful, that while Mark still hid behind his garishly colored robes, Harry couldn't touch him.

But then again, the same could be said for the entire Wizarding world. He had already sworn to save the one. What stopped him from saving the other?

Harry turned to Blaise. "Apollo, you're the Seer. How soon do you think we can do this?"

The Smoking Mirror started. Then he smiled, turned to the three leaders. "Be ready," he advised. "We'll return by the harvest moon."


	2. Brainstorming

Here's the second one-shot. It covers some stuff that takes place in February or March or something. The exact dates aren't important. Just know that this happened before Chalice of the Moon. Speaking of Book 3, please note that BOOK 2 IS COMPLETE. I was originally going to have one more chapter after Daughter of Frost, but then I decided it would fit this collection of one-shots better and it became Ultimatum (the previous chapter). Don't expect any more updates on Book 2.

* * *

"I'm bored."

"That's nice."

"No it's not. I hate being bored."

"So find some way to entertain yourself." The pale boy scowled. Back home, before _it _had happened, he'd often had conversations like this with his mother, who had always dropped everything to oblige him. Now, though, he was talking with a man over twice his age.

Sirius rolled onto his belly. "It's not like there's much to do," he pointed out, acting as though he, not Dudley, was the twelve-year-old. "It's too cold to explore the island, no one's here but you- no offense, of course- and I've already read all the books in the castle." The wizard's lips quirked. "And you've already finished home school, so unless you wanted to learn more, there's really nothing to do."

Dudley shuddered. "No." He paused. "You could tell me another story about that school Harry's going to." A brief pang swelled inside him, and the Muggle smiled bitterly. He'd never thought that he would ever miss the younger boy, but with his parents still in _that place _and Mark the one who put them there, Harry was the only family he had left.

Sirius launched into a complex story involving house-elves, Lily Evans, and baking soda, but Dudley could tell his heart wasn't in it.

Wonderful. Now he was bored too.

"I'm still bored," Sirius moaned. He shifted into dog form and whined pitifully.

A year ago, that action would have made Dudley run screaming. Now, though, he didn't bat an eyelash. Compared to some of the other things he'd seen in the magical world, the Animagus transformation was downright tame.

They spent a few minutes discussing why Lucius Malfoy was currently being held prisoner in the dungeons before lapsing into silence. Boredom was not fun at all.

"Good afternoon, Sirius, Dudley."

The males started, swinging guiltily around. Saysa smiled at them, mouth closed to hide her too-sharp teeth.

Neither Sirius nor Dudley was entirely certain as to Saysa's race, but they knew one thing- she wasn't human. Humans didn't have eyes like hers: golden, slit-pupiled, and filled with magic. Padfoot inhaled, canine nostrils flaring. That was another reason Saysa couldn't be human. She smelled like snake.

"Not really," the Animagus shrugged, shifting back to his human form. "We're bored."

The woman grimaced. "Yes, prolonged periods of solitude will do that." Her lips perked up briefly, obviously in remembrance of some inside joke.

"So what do you do when you're bored?" Dudley wondered. He was curious about all six of the men and women who'd arranged his rescue from Azkaban, but Saysa's blatant inhumanity made her the most compelling.

The serpent-woman cocked her head, glossy black hair rippling. "I think," she explained simply.

"What about?"

She smiled. "Many things: memories of my friends and family, interpretations of the books I've read and memorized, plans for the future. Other times I sleep and dream." She sighed. "But I can't expect you to do the same. My apologies for not adequately stocking the castle."

"It's fine," Sirius assured her. "I should be used to boredom- there wasn't much to do in Azkaban- but then I had constant exposure to the dementors. They weren't boring- awful, but not boring."

Saysa bared her teeth, inhuman fangs flashing in the sunlight. Her eyes blazed gold. "The filthy creatures ought to be eliminated."

Dudley had gone pale and clammy. A tiny part of him was ashamed- Sirius had been _there_ much longer, and he could talk about dementors without almost throwing up- but the rest of him was back in the cell, listening to the _things_ gliding byand realizing once again that he was nothing but a worthless, spoiled bully….

A wet nose buried itself in his stomach. Dudley blinked, returning to reality. Padfoot whined softly, giving him the puppy-dog eyes.

"Are you alright, Dudley?" asked Saysa gently.

"Yeah," he mumbled, not meeting her eyes. Padfoot snorted. Dudley glared. "Can- can we change the subject?" He hated how weak he sounded, how small and pathetic.

"Of course." Saysa launched into news of her five human companions. Pallas was trying to improve the anti-dementor amulets, Pollux was researching his unnamed illness with help from Apollo and Bianca (who had joined the group two weeks after Sirius and Dudley arrived on Founder's Isle), and Alexander was trying to acquire plants for their as-yet-nonexistent greenhouse.

Inspiration struck, and Sirius grinned. "Is anyone actually working on the greenhouse?" he demanded.

Saysa blinked at him, confused. "We do have plans to create it, but Alexander wants to learn how many plants he can obtain before making any definite plans."

"I'll do it," the Animagus volunteered. "Make the greenhouse, that is. It's not like I've got anything better to do."

"Why stop at a greenhouse?" blurted Dudley. The adults turned and stared. "Maybe make- I dunno- a guest house or something. Maybe another library. If Pallas keeps bringing in all these books, we'll need the space."

"That is very true," admitted Saysa. "We can provide you with building supplies and books on architecture."

The males glanced at each other, remembering how bored they'd been before the woman's visit. Sirius smirked. "When can we start?"

Sirius had absolutely no idea how no one had thought of that before.

* * *

They were _wizards, _for Merlin's sake! Of _course _they could duplicate literature without a printing press!

Still, the sight of the old Muggle typewriters in the otherwise one hundred percent magical library always made him shake his head.

"You're gonna make a newspaper?" Dudley parroted blankly. The adults nodded, smug as the cat who got the canary. Sirius was strongly reminded of the day Professor McGonagall learned that Lily and James were dating and she'd become five hundred Galleons richer.

"You've read the Daily Prophet, haven't you, Dudley?" Pallas inquired. At the Muggle's nod, she continued, "Well, then you know it's all a load of dung. It's run by purebloods, so they know absolutely nothing about Muggles or werewolves or anything, and you've seen the propaganda it prints about Dumbledore." Her lips thinned, reminding the Animagus once again of Professor McGonagall.

Apollo took over. "It's not exactly a newspaper," he explained. "More like a newsletter. We're only going to publish once or twice a month, and it'll include things like house-elf rights and facts about Muggles."

"So when exactly did you come up with this?" the Marauder wondered.

"We've been thinking about it for months," Pollux replied, "but we got distracted by all the other things that were going on."

Sirius nodded; he could understand _that_. Between breaking him out of prison, rescuing dozens of kidnapped teenagers, and their daily lives, the six of them had barely had time to eat and sleep, let alone publish a newsletter.

"I can help with the Muggle stuff," Dudley volunteered.

The adults gawked. The boy hadn't displayed any interest in their endeavors before, so what brought this on? Boredom, perhaps, or was he really starting to care for the world around him?

_How interesting,_ thought Pollux. His lips twitched. "That would be excellent, Dudley. Thank you."

The Muggle scowled. "I'm not doing this for _you,_ Riddle. I'm doing this for my Mum and Dad." Who _you _left to rot in Azkaban. "They're… there because wizards and Muggles don't understand each other." He shuddered. As always, memories of his time in prison brought sweat to his forehead and trembling to his hands.

The wizards changed the subject. "We're calling it the _Vox Veri,_" Alexander announced. "That's Latin for 'Voice of Truth.' What do you think of that?"

"It's a good name," Sirius agreed, "and a good plan." He sighed heavily. "The wizarding world needs more like it."

Pollux smiled grimly. "That's why we're here."

* * *

I don't like the second half as much, but I had to get something published before you lost patience and killed me.

-Antares


	3. Baby Steps

Mark Potter hated snakes more than anything else in the world.

There were two reasons for this. First, he'd accidentally sat on a snake as a child, and the experience had freaked both him and Harry out. Second (and this was far more theoretical, something Seamus had suggested) he probably had unconscious memories of Voldemort, who looked uncannily serpentine. The phobia had gotten even worse after meeting him in the forbidden corridor last year, so he thought Seamus was onto something.

Of course, he hadn't told his friends just how afraid he was of serpents. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, after all, and he had a reputation to keep. Only Harry knew how deeply rooted it really was, and despite blabbing details of their home life to random portraits, the older Potter had left that particular detail out.

He stared unblinking at the monster before him: all scales and night-black coils and hissing fangs. It looked exactly like the animal he'd sat on eight years earlier, except it was almost ten feet long.

Mark gulped, stepping back. The snake slithered forward.

"Bug off," he ordered it, pointing with his wand. "Go away or I'll hex you."

The snake hissed, lunging forward. Mark yelped (it was NOT a shriek), dodging aside.

Bright light hit the enormous serpent, causing it to vanish. Mortified that someone had seen his weakness, Mark looked up to thank his rescuer-

-and met the green eyes of Harry James Potter, his older twin.

For an eternal moment the brothers remained silent, neither willing to make the first move. Mark was tempted to snap, to sneer that he didn't need a snake to save him from a snake, but the close encounter brought back memories of the other serpent incident.

"You okay?" Harry's voice was guarded, nothing at all like the camaraderie they'd once shared. "If it bit you, I can take you to the Hospital Wing."

Resentment flared in Mark's gut. "Awfully caring now, aren't you."

The other twin flinched. "I don't like seeing you hurt, okay? So spare me."

Mark's eyes went wide. So… Harry hadn't visited because he didn't want to see him hurt? It wasn't the wholehearted apology he'd wanted, but it was a lot better than anything he'd expected.

And he was tired of being an only child.

Still, he wasn't going to forgive the elder that easily. Harry had had a _duty_ to visit him when he was recovering from Voldemort's attack, and he'd failed that duty.

So he said nothing.

"I _am_ sorry, though," Harry sighed. "For everything."

Mark froze. He remained silent a second too long, willing his voice to steady itself. "Sorry doesn't cut it."

"No, it doesn't," muttered the other. There was an odd bitterness in his voice, in his eyes, but it was masked almost before Mark knew it was there.

"What spell did you use on that snake?" he asked neutrally.

"Just something I picked up in the library. I…I can teach it to you, if you want."

His twin hesitated. It really was a cool spell, and he'd probably need it to fight Dark creatures and stuff when he got older. On the other hand, though, he could probably bypass his brother and learn it from Gilderoy. But if he did that, then-

No. Focus, Potter. You're enemies. He's jealous of you, and he's a prat. You don't like him anymore. Besides, he's a Slytherin, and they're all Dark wizards.

Then he had an idea.

Slytherins were Dark wizards, and he was a Dark wizard fighter. Maybe if he let Harry teach him this spell, he could learn more about the Slytherins and help further the Light cause! Yes, that was an excellent excuse to talk to him- um, that is, it's a good reason to put up with him. Yeah. Because it was a totally distasteful task undertaken for the greater good of the Wizarding world, not an only child reaching out to his brother.

"Sure," he shrugged. "When I have time. And I'll bring Dean, Seamus, and Ron."

"All right then," Harry agreed. "You can owl me. I know you're busy, what with that biography coming out. Good luck with it, by the way."

He didn't thank him yet- they had too many months of bitterness and vitriol to work through, if they even could. He just walked away.

* * *

"**Thanks, Sisith," **Harry hissed, lifting the Disillusionment and Engorgement Charms.

"**Don't,"** the serpent ordered. **"I've wanted to do that for a long, long time."** He bared his teeth, and not in a smile. **"I still think you should leave him to rot." **

"**Your opinions have been noted." **

"**Besides, tutoring is pretty different from brothering." **

"**Another opinion, noted." **

"**And he was the one who-" **

"**I get it, Sisith. You don't like him. You think I'm an idiot for trying to do this. As I said, your opinions have been noted and ignored."** His jaw set. **"I **_**will**_** get my brother back." **

Almost a week later, Mark Potter brought his three groupies to the library. None of them looked very happy.

"Hi," said Harry, setting down his book on healing spells. Voldemort's knowledge was incredibly convenient, but Dark Lords knew very little about fixing things. They preferred blood, death, and fire.

"What's the spell?" Ron demanded.

"We need a place to practice," the Slytherin commented. "There's an abandoned classroom down the hall; I've set up some targets there. Shall we?" He stood, walked away. The four Gryffindors followed.

"We're thinking about setting up a tutoring practice," he commented a few minutes later, watching Mark hit the target with a curse that looked similar to the Disillusionment Charm but would really just shrink an object for three minutes. "Y'know, me and the others in Better than Binns."

"That's nice," growled Dean, who had not been particularly successful with the spell. "Too bad we don't need it."

Harry shrugged. "Just throwing it out there, and it wouldn't have to be me. Neville could do it- he's in your House, so you wouldn't have to put up with a slimy Slytherin."

Hearing him say it so simply, so casually, as though there had never been anything else, put a lump in Mark's throat. He ignored it. "Neville? Nah. He's good at Herbology, but horrible at everything else."

Harry's eyes flashed in a way that brought back so many memories: Mark hurt after one of Dudley's "games," children laughing at the V-shaped scar on his head, Petunia shrieking at them to stop being lazy as they toiled over Mark's homework. It was the big brother look, the one Mark had never seen directed at himself. "Neville is extremely talented. He just lacks confidence, and he's been getting a lot better about that lately." He didn't mention Alexander Chamberlain or their alternate lives, how the Fae disguise showed a whole new side of the older wizard. Then he forced a smile- he was trying to reconcile with his twin, not scare him away. "Hermione then. She's a Ravenclaw; that's socially acceptable."

"But she's really bossy," complained Dean.

"I could deal with her," Ron commented, a little _too _easily. Harry fought back an enraged hiss. Did he really think that Hermione would go out with a shallow little rat?

Then he forced himself back on topic. The Ravenclaw was smart, far too smart for Ron; they could laugh about his little crush with the others.

The Parselmouth glanced at Mark. His brother looked uncomfortable. Guilty. Good. That was the plan. "I could ask, if you really want her to tutor her." He left just enough question in his voice to make Mark chew his lip.

"I don't know," the younger Potter shrugged. "You're a fairly decent teacher."

"Thanks. Maybe I should teach DADA one year, assuming Lockhart doesn't get rid of the curse." He laughed lightheartedly, hiding his contempt for the fop behind sugary sweetness. Mark liked the idiot; no need to irritate him by insulting his idol. "Or maybe he'll go back to fighting monsters."

"You'd be a good teacher," his brother commented nonchalantly.

And that was how they set up the first tutoring lesson for History of Magic.

"Have you ever heard of Occlumency?" Harry asked, leaning back on his chair.

"Occlu-whata?" Mark echoed. "Nope."

"It's one of the mind arts," his brother explained. "It originated as a defense against Legilimency, the art of reading someone's mind, but it's got all sorts of practical applications for schoolwork. It keeps your mind organized and helps you remember things more easily."

The other Potter tilted his head, considering.

"So learning this Occlu-thingy would mean letting you read our minds?" Ron was as belligerent as usual.

"Not necessarily," the younger boy replied.

"No way." Ron folded his arms. Dean and Seamus echoed their agreement.

Mark shrugged, torn between his friends and his brother- but his choice was obvious. "No, I'm not interested either."

Harry fought back a scowl. Well, he reminded himself, you win some, you lose some.

Still, that reassurance didn't quell the nagging thought that maybe Sisith was right.


	4. Daphne's Proposition

"Hermione, I need you to do me a favor."

The bushy-haired witch looked up from Ravenclaw's _Book of Hope and Despair. _"What kind of favor, Daphne?"

"I need you to research someone and pretend it's an extra credit project for History of Magic."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "All right, I guess. I was thinking about doing some extra research there anyway. Who do you want me to learn about and why?"

"First the why," the Slytherin murmured. "You remember that some things didn't add up when you rescued me and the others from Malfoy?"

"Of course." She shuddered. "There was the storm, and the lightning, and you were hurt, somehow."

"Yes. I think I've found an explanation…." She explained her theory to a stunned, almost disbelieving audience of one.

The Ravenclaw's eyes bulged. "That- that makes perfect sense, but the odds against it are astronomical. It's almost as unlikely as- as-"

"As Blaise being a Seer, as Neville being an Herbology prodigy, as you inventing an anit-dementor amulet, or as Harry being a Parselmouth?"

"Oh." The older witch reddened. "When you put it that way, it doesn't seem odd at all."

"I know." She sighed heavily. "I've been looking through the prophecies, and I _think _they imply that I'm right, but I'd still like you to research this. I need to know for sure before telling the others." She snorted. "I don't want to get their hopes up just to have them dashed in the sand."

"That makes sense, I guess. I won't tell them. But why do you want me to do the research?"

A tiny smile. "You're smart, Hermione. You tell me."

The older girl's eyes narrowed. "Dumbledore, I suppose. He knows something didn't add up, too, and you're worried that if you explore the books yourself, he'll come to the same conclusions you did. And that would be… bad. Very, very bad, especially if you're right."

"I thought so myself," Daphne agreed. "So you'll do it?"

"Of course. It won't be the first time I've done extra credit for no reason, and if I play this right, I can get some for Charms class too."

The other witch rolled her eyes. "You don't need extra credit for Charms class, Hermione, but that's a good excuse as to why you're choosing her instead of another historical figure."

She smiled. "That's the idea."

* * *

"Blaise, I have an idea that might help you learn more about being a Seer."

"Really, Hermione? Shoot."

The Ravenclaw grinned. "It's simple, really. Research next year's classes. If anyone sees you, they'll just think you're trying to decide on the best path."

"That's smart. I'll have to do that. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"You know, I wonder if we could get any other research done with that excuse. You know, learn about dragons and basilisks under the pretense of studying Care of Magical Creatures. No, wait, we already know more about them than any random author in the library. Ah, the joys of knowing a Parselmouth."

The witch tilted her head. "Hm… I could learn more about amulets and wards and say I'm preparing for Ancient Runes class. I'm taking that next year anyways, along with Arthimancy and Care."

"And we could learn more about Animagi in a Transfiguration project," the Slytherin speculated. "Moony and Padfoot great, but it's been a long time since they made their own potions."

"That is a good idea," chuckled Hermione. "Extra credit for two classes and valuable information for later on. And we can use this excuse to research almost everything we need. We'll have to thank Daphne for coming up with the idea."

"Daphne did it?" Blaise sounded confused.

His friend flinched. Curse her flapping mouth! She could keep secrets from teachers, authority figures, her own parents, but she was used to honesty around her friends, especially now that Daphne was an official part of her group. She shrugged, faking nonchalance. "It was just a general suggestion. I was the one who applied it to your Seeing."

Amazingly, he accepted her half-baked excuse. She must be getting better at lying.

"Shall we go up to the library and stage a long, loud conversation about looking into different courses for next year?" Blaise smirked, teeth white against his dark face.

Hermione giggled. "You had me at 'library.' Let's go!"

* * *

Yay, a double update. I figured I owe you after ignoring you for so long. Don't worry, though, Chalice should be up by the end of the month.


	5. Pinions

_He stood in the grove, surrounded by holly, yew, and elder. It was almost dawn, and pinkish oranges seeped across the horizon. The only darkness was his quarry, the shadowy soaring raven. _

_He ran faster and faster after the raven, into the rising sun. His breathing was ragged, hoarse. Then he stopped. "Why are you running from me?" he demanded, angry and exhausted. "We are the same. I can't steal your freedom without killing my own!" _

_The bird wheeled around, feathers scintillating in the predawn light, and plunged into his chest. _

Harry jerked awake, panting. He shivered.

Hedwig hooted softly, and he rolled over in his bed to pat her feathers. "I'm fine, girl. I just had that dream again- the one about the Animagus vision, not the other ones." He shuddered. Voldemort's memories did not make pretty nightmares. "And this time I actually have a reason. I'm changing all the way tomorrow." He grinned, dream buried by anticipation. "We can go flying together. How's that sound?"

She made a small, delighted sound and nibbled at his fingers. The Parselmouth grinned. "I thought so too."

"Harry?" Remus called softly. "You all right?"

"I'm fine," he answered. "Just a bit anxious for tomorrow, that's all."

"All right, then," the werewolf replied. "You're really loud in your sleep, you know? I'm a heavy sleeper, and you still managed to wake me up."

Harry forced a grin, though he knew his godfather couldn't see. The Marauder was a heavy sleeper… but not when his godson was in the midst of a bad dream. Then, he had an almost supernatural sense of hearing. And perhaps it _was_ supernatural- the bestial part of all werewolves liked him.

He snuggled back into the bed, trying to sleep again, but to no avail. He was too excited, too energized. After about half an hour of trying to stay still, the Parslemouth gave up and took out his father's Animagus journal, flipping to the section where he finally achieved the transformation.

He looked through Prongs's notes, reading and rereading them. His father's change had been gradual at first: fur sprouting, spine bending, each action performed individually over the course of minutes. Then, once he'd finally become the stag, it had been easy, a matter of casual thought, not intense concentration.

That was how Remus found him four hours later: curled up on his covers, still-glowing wand held loosely in his fist, book clutched to his chest. The werewolf shook his head fondly. "Wakey wakey, Pinions."

"What?" The younger wizard blinked in confusion. "Pinions?"

His guardian shrugged, embarrassed. "We all had animal names: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. Now it's Moony, Pinions, Padfoot, and Prongs." He chuckled. "I should change my name to something that starts with a 'p.' Wouldn't want to mess up the alliteration, now, would we?"

"Packer?"

"What?"

The Parselmouth lifted and dropped his shoulders. "Packer. Your new name. Y'know, wolf packs, packer?"

"Isn't that a Muggle sports team in the States?"

"I'm not sure. I think it might be, but can you think of any other wolf or moon-related 'p' names?"

"No. And with that in mind, I think I'm going to stay Moony."

Half an hour later, the little family Apparated to Founder's Isle, where Sirius and Dudley were waiting impatiently. "Finally!" Padfoot cried. "I thought you two would never get here." He frowned. "Now that you're a real Animagus, we need a new name for you."

Godfather and godson grinned. "Pinions."

"So now we're Moony, Pinions, Padfoot, and Prongs? Way to mess up the alliteration, Remus."

"Harry, is it just me, or is this conversation feeling very familiar?"

"Indeed it is, Packer."

Dudley blinked at them. "Y'know, that's pretty close to the name of a sports team in the States."

Remus and Harry exchanged glances before literally howling with laughter. Sirius and Dudley had the distinct impression that they were missing something.

The dog Animagus decided to change the subject. "So, Pinions, are you ready?"

"I think so, yeah."

They had picked out his transformation spot earlier that week, as soon as Hogwarts had let out for spring break. The Animagus-to-be stood on a gentle, windswept bluff, feeling the crisp sea breeze run through his hair. The other males watched silently, waiting.

He turned his back to them, gazing out into the endless sea. Scotland was out there, somewhere, far beyond any human's sight. Scotland, and Hogwarts, and its master.

His jaw grew hard with determination. Arms lifted up like a bird's wings, a raven's wings. He closed his eyes, remembered the dream that had haunted him for months.

And Pinions was born.

Feathers sprouted: down, primaries, secondaries, all dark as his hair. Bones rearranged themselves, growing thinner and lighter each second. Hair and clothing receded, vanishing into his shrinking body. His arms grew thicker, flatter, fingers spreading apart, the space between them growing new flesh. His legs shifted position, growing scaly and dark. When he opened his eyes, they were black as night but filled with the night's stars.

"Whoa," Dudley said stupidly. Harry tried to grin, but his new form didn't have lips.

That was when he realized he had no idea what he was doing. Ravens were built very differently than humans, after all.

He hopped experimentally, wings outstretched for balance. His toes uncurled, gripping the dirt. Still trying to grin without lips, the bird turned his head left, right, left again.

Then Padfoot was beside him, woofing playfully and snapping at his feet. He let out an indignant squawk, jumping into the air, wings flaring instinctively. They fluttered, muscles twisting in strange new ways- and then he fell.

Remus and Dudley groaned. "Come on, cuz, you can do this." A year ago, words of encouragement from any Dursley's mouth would have been the stuff of some bizarre dream. That day, though, Harry scarcely noticed.

Again and again he leapt into the air, wings wheeling wildly in vain attempts to fly higher, higher, higher, but to no avail. Finally, exhausted, he fluttered to the ground, head hanging in defeat.

"Ready to change back?" Sirius inquired gently. "It takes a while to get used to the new body, and flying's a lot more difficult than running around on all fours. Don't worry. You'll get the hang of it."

The bird glared. Sirius frowned back. "Hey, don't blame me. It takes this long for everyone."

Harry fluffed his feathers, smoothed them down. He looked out at the cloudy sky, the half-hidden sun. His legs bent, and then he jumped, jumped high into the air, not flapping wildly, but stroking smoothly, rhythmically- and he was flying.

The Animagus cawed in triumph, an avian laugh. Below him, his audience cheered. He circled, not daring to go too high, once, twice, thrice, before landing on the ground. The bird narrowed his eyes in concentration, and then Harry was back, grinning exultantly. "I did it!"

"You did it," Remus agreed, slinging an arm around his ward's shoulder. "Good job, Pinions."


	6. Squiddy Surprise

No, "Squiddy Surprise" is not the name of a casserole, or of something they serve in high school cafeterias. It's the history of the giant squid, U'ulologchuk. His name is pronounced "oo-oo [as in 'food'] low-lowg [as in the word 'low'] chuk [rhymes with 'truck' or 'duck']."

* * *

Salazar Slytherin considered himself a reasonable, level-headed man. He was used to odd occurrences (usually bad ones). He could handle dueling seventh years and bowtruckle attacks and overprotective house-elves and The Dragon Incident. He was used to his friend Godric Gryffindor's deranged ideas.

Or at least, he thought he was. _This _took the cake.

He was not the only one to feel that way. Helga Hufflepuff, normally so unflappable that even the centaurs respected her, was staring at their comrade's latest… acquisition… in mute horror, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "Godric?" she began.

"Yes?" replied the red-bearded man, grinning as though nothing was wrong.

"What… is… _that?_"

He frowned at her. "Isn't it obvious?"

"What she means," Rowena Ravenclaw translated, "is _why in the name of Circe is there a giant squid swimming around in the Black Lake_?"

"He's not a giant squid," he corrected her, pleased to know something the famously intelligent witch did not. "He's a baby kraken. His name is U'ulologchak."

"Let me rephrase it," she growled. "Why in the name of Circe is there a baby kraken swimming around in the Black Lake?"

He deflated slightly. "Remember the conversation we had the other day about the how we didn't know when the prophecies would be fulfilled and should try to find someone or something to whom we could entrust the predictions?"

"So you brought a _baby kraken _onto Hogwarts grounds?" Salazar could feel a headache coming on. He didn't want to know how Godric had acquired the beast, or what had been going through the madman's mind when he did so.

"Of course," he answered cheerily. "Who would suspect a squid?"

The Parselmouth closed his eyes and counted to ten. "Godric," he growled, "please explain to us just _how _a baby kraken is supposed to convey important information to a child who might not be born yet when the bloody creature doesn't speak a word of Gaelic, Norse, Latin, or any recognizable human language?"

He really shouldn't have asked. The redhead launched into a complicated explanation involving an underwater chamber filled with prophecy-covered scrolls, a chamber which only the squid (and potentially merpeople, though they probably wouldn't be able to reach the scrolls) could access, kidnappings, and the Bubble-head Charm.

Reactions to his idea were mixed. Salazar closed his eyes and began rubbing his temples. Helga managed to pull herself together, but whenever Godric turned his gaze from her, her entire face twitched. Rowena's face grew cold and hard as stone- never a good sign.

"I don't suppose you've taken the march of years into account?" she demanded frostily.

Godric blinked at her. "The march of years?"

"Yes." The words came from behind clenched teeth. "And whether or not the lake can sustain a kraken, and future heads' reactions to it, not to mention the merpeople and the fact that it has no way to communicate with the Speaker when he comes."

His face turned nearly as red as his beard. "Oh. Er, no. No, I haven't. But that's what we have a lovely genius like you for." He gave her his best womanizer's smile, which had never worked before and certainly didn't work that time. "Besides, U'ulologchak is an orphan. We can't just abandon him."

Helga, sensing a fight, decided to perform damage control. "It really is a lovely idea, at least in its most basic form. We probably should entrust the prophecies to a single being, not an entire family of fallible human beings. It's just that it needs to be something the Speaker and his friends can communicate with, that's all. Does anyone have any suggestions for a suitable creature?"

"Probably not a dragon," murmured Godric speculatively.

A collective shudder ran through the group. They all remembered The Dragon Incident- _vividly._ "No dragons," Rowena agreed. Her face lit up with inspiration. "But we should probably stick with the serpentine theme. Salazar, do you know of any long-lived snakes that could carry out this duty?"

The man in question grit his teeth. Why did everyone assume that he knew everything about snakes? He was a Parseltongue, not a naturalist! "Not offhand, no."

"Ashwinders don't live very long, just until they've laid their eggs," Rowena mumbled. "Amphisbaenae… they live a bit longer, but I don't think they could survive this far north. Sea serpents are too stupid, and I'm not even sure if they're real serpents."

"What about a basilisk?" suggested Godric.

The Founders grew silent. Precious little was known about basilisks, save that other serpents viewed them as kings and queens- for good reason. Basilisks were deadly: poison fangs, impenetrable hides, gaze of death.

"Didn't Herpo's live for nine hundred years?" wondered Salazar, trying to remember his relatively scant knowledge of magical history.

"I think it did," Helga agreed. "Not even dragons live that long. I don't know if the Speaker will take _quite _that long to arrive, but it's always better to err on the side of caution." She nodded. "Yes, I believe that a basilisk would do well."

"They're easy to create, too," Rowena pointed out. "We have dozens of chickens here, and it should be easy to find a toad."

"If all else fails," Godric joked, "we could borrow one from one of the students."

Three sets of eyes glared at him. He held up his hands defensively. "I'm only jesting."

"We'd need a place for it to live," Helga declared. "We can't keep it near the students; that's just too dangerous."

"We need to build an underground chamber," Godric proclaimed. "Something accessible only to Parselmouths."

"We'd need to hide it, too," Rowena pointed out. "Otherwise any headmaster who doesn't like serpents could change the password and lead a group to kill it."

"A secret chamber, filled with secrets," murmured Salazar.

"The Chamber of Secrets," Godric declared.

The others smiled. "Chamber of Secrets," Salazar breathed, tasting the words. They tasted powerful; they _were_ powerful. Still, it wouldn't do to let Godric think this had impressed him. He shrugged. "It will do, I suppose."

For once, Godric had had a good idea. Well, he thought dryly, there's a first time for everything.


	7. Famous Names

This takes place sometime in very early November 1992.

* * *

"Knock it off, Blaise. You're giving me a headache."

The other Slytherin met Harry's eyes- and grinned. "Knock what off?" he asked innocently, shifting once again into his Fae form. Brown eyes lightened to sky-blue, black hair brightened to sunny gold. His frame stretched and thickened. His features altered. Then, just as the new body had settled on him, he shifted back into his regular shape.

"That shifting thing!" the Parselmouth burst out. "You've done it about a hundred times in the past hour. It's getting old."

"Not for me," he replied, shifting once again. His voice changed in the middle of the sentence, deepening into a warm baritone.

"Harry has a point," Hermione commented. "Don't you think so, Neville?"

The Gryffindor jumped. Like Blaise, he was fascinated by the Fae magic that allowed them to change shapes. Unlike the Slytherin, though, he had limited himself to a few changes back and forth and was now resting in his regular form, watching the Smoking Mirror with an expression of interest. "Right," he agreed quickly.

Blaise rolled his eyes but stopped changing. "We need names," he declared.

"Sorry?" The abrupt change of topic took Hermione off guard.

"Names," her friend reiterated. "You know, those things we call each other and write on all our schoolwork? We need names for our Fae selves."

"He's right," Neville agreed. "I'll be… um… Alexander." His face saddened. "That's Dad's middle name."

"Do you have a surname in mind?" asked Hermione.

"Er… do you?"

"Maybe Green?" his friend suggested.

He shook his head. "That's too close to Greengrass."

"Good point," she admitted. "How about… no, that wouldn't work… are there any particular role models you have?"

Neville blushed. His eyes darted to Harry. "Not anyone I'm going to name myself after."

"Should it be a Muggle or wizard name?" the girl continued. "English, Scottish, Irish, Welsh, or foreign? Or maybe you could name yourself after another Neville."

"Gran's maiden name is Chamberlain," he blurted, likely to make her stop talking. They all loved Hermione, but she could be a bit overwhelming at times.

"Excellent! Alexander Chamberlain it is, then," the Ravenclaw proclaimed. "One down, three to go."

"Four, if you count the Daughter of Frost," Blaise pointed out.

"Whoever _she_ is," Harry groused. Though he had been the one to win their Fae forms from the Winter Queen, he didn't like thinking about them. The thought that he could now wear Voldemort's original form at will galled him. He knew, intellectually at least, that it was a good political move on her part, but that didn't mean he liked it.

Hermione's smile became rather fixed. "Let's make a name for Blaise next. Maybe… maybe something to do with how he's supposed to be a Seer?" She wasn't particularly fond of Divination, but it would be hypocritical to follow Saysa's prophecies without believing that the Smoking Mirror also possessed clairvoyant powers.

"Apollo," Neville joked. "God of prophecy and music, as we all know how much Blaise loves his choir class."

The Slytherin shoved him playfully. "Shut it, you. You all know I'm only in that thing because Endymion's making me."

"I like the name Apollo," Hermione announced. "Your Fae form even looks like a sun god."

The Seer preened. "Why, thank you, but that flattery will get you nowhere. Got any good surnames?"

She shook her head. "I can look up some of Apollo's titles in the old myths, but I don't know any offhand. Or maybe you could adopt a solar word like Gold or- I don't know, something else."

"Or I could grab a wizarding genealogy, open it to a random page, and pick out the first name I see. Provided it doesn't belong to anyone we know, that is."

Hermione seemed slightly perturbed by his unconventional methods but let it slide. She was Muggle-born, after all; if Blaise wanted a pureblood's surname, she couldn't really provide him with many. The Ravenclaw made a mental note to research wizarding families to rectify that gap in her knowledge. She could probably start around Christmas, after she'd memorized a sufficient percentage of the prophecies. "All right, then. What should we call Harry?"

"As long as it doesn't involve 'Tom,' 'Marvolo,' or 'Riddle,' I couldn't care less," the Slytherin growled. His fists clenched. Less than a week after receiving a boon from the Winter Queen herself, and he already regretted it.

"I think it should," Blaise disagreed.

Harry fixed him with a basilisk's glare.

"Think about it," the other Slytherin continued, ignoring his friend's hostility. "Imagine the look on his ugly face when he hears that a bloke with his old face using part of his old name is running around championing Muggle-borns, saving goblins, and whatever else it is you're planning to do."

The Parselmouth tilted his head, thinking. A tiny smile graced his lips. "I suppose that would be kind of funny," he acquiesced.

"Not to mention it would get back at the Winter Queen," Blaise added.

"And it would confuse Dumbledore," Hermione mused. Her lips tilted up. "I think you should consider it, Harry. I know you don't like having that face, but… I don't want to say 'make the best of it' because that sounds so trite, but you should at least try to take advantage of it."

The wizard shrugged, his eyes lost in thought. "What about you, Hermione?"

The girl considered. "My Fae form looks Indian, so I should probably take a surname from the subcontinent," she murmured. "I'll have to look one up. Not Patil, though."

"Your first name should be Athena," Neville proposed. "Or maybe Rowena. You're certainly smart enough."

The Ravenclaw, a long-time admirer of her House's Founder and the Greek goddess of wisdom, blushed. "Thank you, Neville, but I don't think so. Those names… they're a bit pretentious, don't you think?"

"Not for you," Blaise answered honestly.

Hermione's blush deepened. She mumbled something about arrogance and averted her gaze.

"What about Pallas, then?" Neville wasn't willing to give up on his idea just yet. "It's one of Athena's titles, but people won't make the connection right away. Or is that pretentious too?"

She thought it over. Pallas… it was a nice name, easy on the tongue, and not as boastful as Rowena or Athena or even Minerva (though she wouldn't have taken that name anyways; she would never be able to answer to her Transfiguration teacher's appellation).

"Yes. I like the name Pallas. But I'm not taking Athena as my middle name!"

Blaise nodded with satisfaction. "So now it's back to Harry. What do you think?"

The boy smiled. "Pollux, one of the Gemini. Also a common name among the Blacks. That ought to give Dumbledore a few false trails to follow. Ophion the serpent. And Riddle, just because I know how it will make Voldemort react."

The other Slytherin's grin was devilish. "Pollux Ophion Riddle. I like it."

Harry smiled. "I do too."


	8. Night of the Messedup Snake Things

This, dear friends, is proof that I belong in a loony bin. Fear not, though, for Hermione lack's Blaise's psychic powers. NOTHING she dreams about will come true. Not even I am messed-up enough to bring these mutant creatures into my Speakerverse. They exist only in Hermione's traumatized mind.

* * *

Hermione had never been so grateful that she lacked Blaise's powers. It certainly gave her a bit of a disadvantage, not being able to see the future through her dreams, but it meant she would never have to worry about her nightmares coming true.

And what a nightmare!

The Ravenclaw shuddered in bone-deep horror. This was _the last time_ she ever talked with Hagrid before going to bed! From now on, she would avoid him _at all costs_ after suppertime. And if he was in a particularly sappy mood, she would run screaming whenever he approached.

_Lamia was their firstborn and only biological daughter. Like her mother, she had the ability to transform into a jewel-green snake. However, she couldn't kill, not even in her basilisk form. Her only gifts were Parselmouth and Petrification. Her hair was thick and curly, and she shared her father's love of dangerous beasts. She loved wandering through the Forbidden Forest, consorting with centaurs and other creatures (though never acromantulas). _

Hermione whimpered. How could she possibly speak to Saysa with this awful, nightmarish images scarred into her brain?

_Cecrops was their second. From his waist up, he was the spitting image of his father. Beneath, though, his legs fused into a scaly green tail. His eyes were beetle-black and slitted down the center. He, too, was a Parselmouth, though his gaze could only paralyze temporarily. Cecrops adored the Chamber of Secrets. Nothing pleased him more than listening to his mother's stories of how it had been made, of the Founders four and their ancient prophecies. _

Hermione buried her head in her hands. She wanted to start shouting "LALALALALALALA" at the top of her lungs, but that would be ineffective. The voices came from within, not without. She couldn't drown it out by screaming. Not to mention that her Housemates wouldn't appreciate being woken at two in the morning by a hysterical witch.

Though screaming would certainly make her feel better.

_Except for the wild black hair which sprouted from his head, Apophis was entirely serpentine. Only four years old, he was already almost twenty feet long- and still growing. His eyes, too, were surprisingly human- yellow as his mother's, but with round pupils instead of slits. Despite his animalistic appearance, Apophis was the smartest of their brood. He was soft-spoken and articulate, slipping between Parseltongue and English with careless ease. _

"Never again," she moaned. "Never again."

_Veles was the baby of the family, still too young to really have much of a personality. He was cute, though, despite his mouthful of fangs. Like his sister, he was a shape shifter, changing back and forth between the forms of a young basilisk and a human lad. _

First thing in the morning, she was going to Madame Pomphrey for Dreamless Sleep Potion. If that failed, she would make some herself. Even the Draught of Living Death would be better than another nightmare like this.

_And who could forget Norberta? The dragoness wasn't related to either parent by blood, but she was theirs nonetheless. It had taken her a long time to warm to Hagrid, but now she held him in as much affection as she did her foster-mother- not that the fiery dragoness would ever admit it. _

It was official: there was no way she could ever speak to Saysa, Hagrid, or Norberta ever again. And if she ever met someone named Lamia, Cecrops, Apophis, or Veles, there was no telling what she would do.

_Hermione liked babysitting the _[unholy spawn, terrifyingly scarring mutants, messed-up snake creatures] _children. She sat in Hagrid's hut, telling them stories about her adventures as a student. They were good children, quiet and polite. Saysa had raised them well. _

"_But all the prophecies are fulfilled now, right, Aunt Hermione?" Apophis sounded disappointed. He was coiled up by the fireplace with Fang, who had long ago grown used to the strange-smelling snake-creatures which shared his home. _

"_Oh, yes. Dumbledore and Voldemort were defeated long ago, right before your sister was born." Norberta cleared her throat. For some inexplicable reason, she too was in human form. "Your sister Lamia," Hermione corrected herself. _

"_I wish I'd been born earlier," sighed Cecrops. "It would have been terribly exciting." _

"_Be glad you weren't," the only full human reprimanded. "It was an awful time. But we won, and your parents got together and had you, so everything turned out all right." _

_Veles started crying, revealing his pointed fangs and forked tongue. Hermione began to rock him, and he quieted. _

_Such a nice, happy little family, she mused, smiling at the children. So wonderful that Hagrid and Saysa had gotten together. _

The dream hadn't seemed so bad when she was still asleep- and in a way, that was the most terrifying thing of all. It had seemed so freakishly _normal,_ so horrifyingly _plausible_. Only when she woke up did Hermione realize just how nightmarish that dream had actually been.

Was it possible to Obliviate oneself? She made a mental note to research it.

In the meantime, she would avoid all parties involved in her hideous vision. And she would never, never, NEVER argue with Hagrid about his nonexistent love life EVER again.


	9. Grocery Run

Remus collapsed into bed, panting like a marathon runner. Sweat slicked his body, his hair, soaking into his robes.

By Merlin, _what_ had been in those boxes?

As a werewolf, Remus was subject to mandatory labor. Supposedly it was meant to wear them out for the full moon. In reality, it was a cheap way to get goods into Wizarding Britain: have werewolves take them from the ships and load them onto trains, which would take the items in question to Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade.

Moony was accustomed to backbreaking work, but those boxes MUST have been at least twice as heavy as regular imports. Perhaps they were filled with cauldrons? He couldn't think of anything else that would weigh so much.

"This would be so much easier if we were allowed to use Levitation Charms," he groused.

A few minutes later, when his sweat had dried and his breath rate returned to normal, the werewolf realized that he was hungry. Starving, in fact. And no wonder- he must have burned thousands of extra calories that day.

A quick search around the pantry revealed that he was out of food. A bit of flour remained, as well as the sugar he mixed into his morning porridge. But aside from those staples and a few wilting vegetables, he had nothing to eat.

The lycanthrope groaned. He considered Apparating to the Isle, seeing if Sirius and Dudley had anything better to eat, but decided against it. He was too tired to break back through the CC's anti-Apparition wards, and neither Padfoot nor his young charge were particularly talented cooks. They were getting better out of sheer necessity, but he still didn't want to eat anything they had created.

So, grumbling under his breath, he forced his aching feet back into his shoes and ambled off to the overpriced Ministry-run store.

The building was almost empty, save for the Auror-trainee behind the counter. The Aurors in charge of guarding the CC always gave the most boring jobs to the newbies- not that ANY jobs here were particularly exciting. The best Aurors were given duties elsewhere; only the very young, very old, or very incompetent were sent to the CC.

Remus grabbed several packages of instant ramen before approaching the register. He could do a more thorough grocery run later. For now, he just wanted to get home, eat, and collapse into bed.

The Auror, a pretty young witch with bubblegum-pink hair, watched as he brought the armful of noodles to the register. "Wotcher," she said. Then, after Remus had deposited his supper, she added, "Are you Remus Lupin?"

The werewolf looked up, startled. "Yes. How did you know?"

The witch's face lit up. "You're Harry Potter's godfather. Did he ever tell you about saving Hufflepuff House a year and a half ago?"

Moony's eyebrow climbed. "This is news to me."

The Auror grinned and launched into the tale of how Harry had prevented Professor Sprout from leading her students into a troll-infested dungeon two Halloweens ago. Remus listened with steadily growing amazement. He'd known about the troll attack- that had been all over the papers- but not that Harry had played such an important role.

"So I've been keeping up with him after that," the witch (whose name, he had learned, was Tonks) concluded. "Well, sort of. If there's something in the paper that mentions the word 'Potter,' I'll read it, and we've sent two or three letters back and forth. That's how I recognized you- your picture was in the Prophet last year when there was that controversy about whether or not a werewolf could take care of the Boy-Who-Lived's brother."

It was a bit disconcerting, realizing that people he'd never met might recognize him from that picture. To his knowledge, only one image of his person had appeared in the Prophet; most of their illustrations had been of transformed werewolves at the full moon. "You must have a very good memory," he told her.

She shrugged. "That, and I've seen you around here once or twice. They really work you hard, don't they."

He shrugged back. "They do that to all werewolves." His stomach gurgled again. His cheeks flamed. "Er, mind if I pay now?"

Tonks, too, seemed embarrassed. "Of course. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you from supper."

Remus would never know what compelled him to speak. Perhaps it was the novelty of meeting someone new who didn't flinch away from his 'furry little problem.' Perhaps it was because she was the first sympathetic Auror he'd met in years. Perhaps it was because she too knew his godson. Or perhaps (though he would never admit that the thought crossed his mind) it was because werewolves could scent destiny.

Whatever the reason, he opened his mouth and announced, "I'll be back tomorrow."

Tonks blinked at him. The lycanthrope's blush deepened. "Not that you care, of course," he mumbled, deeply humiliated. "I just… how much is the ramen?"

"What time?"

"Sorry?"

"What time will you be back tomorrow?"

Well, this was unexpected. "The second work's done, I think. I barely have anything left."

"That's my shift," she told him, grinning. "See you then, Remus."

The werewolf nodded, not entirely certain what had just happened but not complaining. "All right, then. See you tomorrow."

It was the start of a twice-weekly tradition for them: whenever Tonks was scheduled to work at the store (not often, as she had actual training to do), Remus would stop by to purchase his groceries and talk with her. She was an excellent conversationalist, bright and funny, able to penetrate the faint gloom which hung about him.

But something more happened in those twice-weekly meetings, something which shouldn't have surprised them but did.

By the time Harry returned from Hogwarts, Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin had fallen in love.

* * *

My sisters requested this for Christmas. I obliged. Not my best work, admittedly, but... meh. Merry Christmas, kids!

-Antares


	10. Girl Talk, Guy Talk

This story is a birthday present to my sister, who turns 13 today. Happy birthday.

* * *

Neville had been embarrassed many times in his short life. With a family like his, always craning over his shoulder waiting for his magic to manifest itself, he'd been humiliated in front of people who would never let him forget it. The trend continued even at school (mostly Potions class, though that was mixed with an unhealthy dose of terror), though to a much lesser degree.

But until now, the library had been a safe haven from embarrassment. He didn't love it like Hermione did, but he had no unpleasant memories chasing him away from it.

Thanks to the giggling girls two rows over, that had changed in the blink of an eye.

"I still can't decide," giggled the first, a pretty sixth year with tight curls. "Come on, girls, tell me."

The student to her right glared at the third female, who wisely remained silent. Smiling, the second girl proclaimed (and loudly. Did she have to be so loud?), "The black man was the hottest of them all."

Neville's cheeks burned.

Anyone who looked at him would say that he was white as milk- and he was, in this form. But the Fae had granted him another body last Halloween, and less than a week ago, he had used that body to rescue several kidnapped girls- including these three.

Three girls who were currently, unless his ears were malfunctioning, arguing about which of their three male rescuers was 'hottest.'

And Neville was winning. Sweet Merlin, he was _winning._

The thought was so mind-boggling, so stupefying, so terrifyingly terrifying, that he fled the library… but not the nightmare.

* * *

"The blond man had the best cheekbones, or so I've heard," Parvati proclaimed. She and her sister were only half-bloods, and as such had been spared from Malfoy's Horcrux-induced kidnapping spree. "But everyone agrees that the black one had amazing muscles." She leered. She actually leered.

Neville, who was trying to eat his breakfast in peace (which was apparently too much to ask of the universe at large), tried to ignore what his classmates were saying, but it was _so hard_. They were less than ten feet away from him- less than five!- and it was still early enough that the Great Hall wasn't filled with hungry students.

"I almost wish I'd been kidnapped," Lavender sighed dreamily. "Just to be rescued by three dashing men-"

"And two women!" Neville yelped, unable to take it anymore. "There were two women there too, and a house-elf, right?"

They stared at him. He blinked twice, gulped, and began devouring his pancakes with aplomb.

* * *

Herbology was sacred. Plants had always been his refuge, always, and they would be again.

Except that they were having a double lesson with the Hufflepuffs, and Lavender and Parvati had cornered Susan Bones. A pureblood, she had been taken with the other girls.

Fortunately for Neville's sanity, Susan was a practical girl. He couldn't have borne it if she giggle and squealed over the descriptions. Instead, she sounded rather exasperated with the two Gryffindors, who were making odd female noises with every word she spoke.

"But who was taller?" Parvati whined. "Oh, I wish we knew their names!"

Neville was quite glad that they didn't, thank you very much.

"I don't know who was taller," Susan snapped. "I was busy untying the other girls, and I got out of there before Malfoy and the third man showed up."

"But surely you must have noticed-"

The Hufflepuff replied with a death glare. "No. I was busy trying to stay alive. When your life is in danger, you do _not_ waste time checking out men three times your age."

As Professor Sprout entered the greenhouse, Neville wondered why his House-mates couldn't be more like Susan Bones.

"I'm with you, Nev. I think it's terrifying."

"What are you talking about, Harry?" Blaise's brown eyes were wide and innocent. "I think it's quite flattering, really, all these lovely young ladies talking about us."

"It's creepy," Harry and Neville chorused.

Blaise's smile became forced. "Yeah. That too."


	11. Whispers in the Wind

The whispers began among the centaurs. The Lady has returned, the Orion clan proclaimed, and she has brought with her the Lightning Speaker.

Within mere days of the Guardian's return, the centaurs contacted the merpeople of the Black Lake. A child, half-fish and half-human, had swum too close to shore. He had beached himself.

The centaurs saved him. The child's parents, who like all parents had been terrified by their son's disappearance, came to thank their land-bound allies.

The centaur who had saved him was bright-eyed and excited. Tiny shivers ran down her flanks. "I have news for you and your people," she declared. "The Guardian has returned."

All the mer knew of Saysa the Queen of Serpents, who had dedicated her life to the service of ancient prophecies, the basilisk who had witnessed the signing of the Treaty of the Wood. She was honored among all the races, including the people of the water, and news that she walked once more brought the fish-folk almost as much joy as their son's return.

The centaur continued her tale, telling of how Saysa had visited her clan mere days ago. She had brought with her a young wizard.

The mer hissed in shock. They could think of only one reason that the Lady of the Chamber would bring a human before the Archons; was he…?

He was, the mare told them. The Lightning Speaker had come at last, and the Archons had judged him worthy.

The parents returned to their town confused, not knowing what to think. The Speaker was a herald of great joy, yes, a sign of their freedom; but was he not also an omen of great hardship? Nonetheless, they told their kin of his coming, of the Lady's return, of all the centaur woman had said.

None of the folk of the lake knew how to react. They studied their copies of the ancient prophecies, given to their ancestors by Ravenclaw herself and hidden for a thousand years in a secret vault, but could not decide on a course of action. All they could do was watch, and wait, and hope.

If and when he called them, they would be ready.

On land, news of Saysa and her long-prophesied charge spread like wildfire. Other centaur tribes were the first to know: inhabitants of Dover and Sherwood, even from as far south as Cornwall.

Dwarves heard the news in mid-November. One of their kings received an invitation to speak with a centaur archon. The meeting was private; none knew the exact words they exchanged. Yet when the grim-faced dwarf returned from their council, he ordered his people to prepare for war. Whether or not the people of the earth involved themselves in the Guardian's affairs, the Speaker's coming signaled the dawn of chaos. To survive, the dwarves had to be prepared.

No wizard thought it strange when that same dwarf king requested a meeting with Ragnok of Gringotts. But this meet was not shrouded in secrecy; dozens heard the announcement: "Sharpen your swords, your spears, your arrows."

"Are you threatening war against us?" the director snapped.

"War will come, but not from me," his fellow lord retorted. "Now is the time of prophecy. Soon the Guardian will demand payment of our ancient debt."

The goblin sank back in his chair. Murmurs erupted around him. The goblins had no complete record of the Founders' predictions, but all knew the promise their ancestors had made to Saysa.

Ragnok's eyes sparked with fire, and he leaned forward in his chair. "Our ancestors promised to listen only," he growled. "The goblins will not follow this Lightning Speaker until he has proved himself worthy of our aid!"

Yet despite his defiance, he lost no time in sending messages to the allies of his people. All the bank's owls were dispatched that night, and none stopped to rest until their message had been delivered.

The dwarven High King in Sweden had already received notice when Ragnok's owl arrived. He stroked the bird's head, staring silently at the fate-touched missive. He sat there for a long, long time, then folded the letter and began to pen his reply. The dwarves, too, were a proud and mighty people. They would not bend knee.

No veelas dwelt on British soil. The closest colony was in France. When the exhausted owl extended its foot to the bird-women's leader, it remained no longer than necessary. The veela would not like the news it bore, and it had no desire to be set on fire.

The bird's caution was wise indeed, for the letter it had delivered was soon nothing more than black ashes.

Across the continent the news spread. Letters carried it, and whispers on the wind.

Wizards might be blind as bats, but even they noticed the tension of the races. Strange things happened: veela and dwarves were seen speaking together, a vampire was sighted arguing with a goblin in Gobblededook. Even the selkies and merpeople were more active than normal.

The werewolves had long forgotten the tale of the Treaty of the Wood, but they could scent destiny in the air. They grew restless, turning towards the north and the west, staring at something they did not know they were trying to see. Their overseers noticed this, but they blamed the story of the runaway alpha Ulfhednar for their subjects' discontent.

Even the house-elves, devoted slaves that they were, changed. Old lullabies, half-forgotten relics of their childhood, were sung once more. They were distracted as they moved through their work, forbidden thoughts of freedom rushing through their minds. They were proud of their work, yes, but… what would the Speaker do to their style of life? He was called a bringer of freedom. What did that mean for a culture built on slavery?

The elves' masters noticed their sudden sloppiness, though they kept their servants' sudden ineptitude a secret from their fellow wizards. Perhaps, if they had complained to another man whose servant had begun acting strange, they would have realized just how widespread the distraction was. But no wizard wanted to confess that his slave's behavior had changed, so they kept silent.

Months later, a second wave of news spread across Britain, throughout Europe, even into other continents. There had been a meeting, a great meeting, in the English Gringotts. Three rulers had been there, and they had delivered an ultimatum to the prophesied five: cure the werewolves, and we will aid you. Agent of destiny or no, you must _earn_ our aid, for we will bow to no man.

And so the world waited with bated breath until the mid of summer, when a third whisper reached the races' ears: _The werewolves are redeemed. Prepare yourselves._


	12. Scotland Bound

North, north, always north. It was maddening, that was what it was, this cursed gift of prophecy. But, he admitted (if only grudgingly), the Seer's instinct had a point. North, beyond Hadrian's Wall, he would be safe.

He just had to get there first.

Salazar collapsed into an exhausted heap, weary beyond measure. He barely had the strength to mumble the warding incantations, the only things that could keep him safe for the night. He hadn't eaten much that day, just the remnants of his last loaf of bread, and hadn't been able to hunt or forage anything. He wondered how long it would be until he was hungry enough to steal. Hopefully a long, long time. Surely he'd have better luck tomor-

An awful crick in his neck woke the young wizard up. He groaned, stretching his neck, listening to it pop. It would hurt like the dickens all day no matter what he did, but it would be worse if he didn't crack the bloody thing.

And of course he was hungry now, too. He'd been too tired to feel much from his stomach last night, but now, having slept for… he didn't know how long… he was absolutely starving. He imagined that his belly was trying to gnaw through his back, desperate for any type of nourishment.

A quick glance around revealed two bright-eyed squirrels going about their business. Salazar fixed his gaze on the larger, plumper specimen. One hand groped for his wand. Minutes later, the squirrels were both dead, roasting over his hastily conjured fire.

Magic was good for some things, even if it _had_ gotten him driven out of his village. Even if it insisted on driving him north to who-knows-where for who-knows-what-purpose. Even if it had made his parents hate him….

"Quit blubbering," he ordered himself. His voice was cracked with disuse. Short of murmuring incantations, he hadn't used it much these past few days. "You can't waste the water."

Speaking of water, there was a stream not that far away. He ambled over, drank.

North. North. Go north.

Salazar groaned but obeyed the silent voice, the same voice which had warned him- saved him- when his village found out. His master had said that the voice was a gift, the power of prophecy, and his master had never betrayed him.

But that didn't keep Salazar from grumbling as he walked north, following the stream for a constant source of water. "Always north," he muttered. "How much further north do I have to go? I've walked… it must have been eight days by now. How much longer do I have to run?"

As always, the voice refused to answer.

Walk, walk, walk. Trudge, trudge, trudge. North, north, north.

Salazar went on without really seeing anything. His thoughts were scattered, hazy, as he fantasized about another, faster mode of travel. Dragons. Pegasi. Even regular horses like the local king had. At this point he'd settle for a mule-drawn cart!

As a farmer's son, the young wizard was lean and fit, quite capable of hours of drudgery. That's not to say he liked hours of drudgery, just that he could do it if he had to. He'd never really liked working in the fields, preferring the intellectual pursuits offered him by his master. Merlin, but he missed his master.

At about midday, he stumbled across the old Roman road. It was slightly overgrown, as there weren't many Romans around to keep it in its original pristine condition, but anything was better than tramping through the woods. Besides, he had no doubt that this road led to the wall, and behind the wall was safety. Behind the wall, no one would care that he was a wizard.

There weren't many other travelers. It was an unpleasant time, the roads rife with bandits (Salazar warded off no fewer than five attacks that afternoon), old trading connections severed. In fact, later men and women would call this the tail end of the Dark Ages, just before the medieval era began.

So Salazar was very surprised when he found a young woman walking those same dangerous roads. And she was completely alone.

In other words, asking for trouble.

He hesitated, torn between keeping up his previous pace and leaving her behind to the robbers or slowing down to protect her and thereby ignore the insistent voice inside him. After a few moments' thought, he compromised with himself. He would walk with her for the rest of the day (it was getting dark anyways), maybe find her a helper that night, then leave.

He had not counted on her noticing that he had slowed significantly, but she did. And she did not appreciate it. "May I help you, sir?" she growled, fixing him with stormy gray eyes.

Salazar flung up his hands. "Aren't I allowed to walk?"

"You're not allowed to stalk me," she informed him. "Which seems to be what you're doing. Please leave me alone." She drew out a wand, brandished it menacingly at the startled wizard.

"Peace!" he cried. "I didn't realize you were a witch."

"I bet you didn't," she muttered.

"So I worried that someone would take advantage of a young and apparently helpless woman traveling alone. I decided to protect you, not attack you. See?" He drew his own wand, carefully keeping the tip to his own chest. "I have magic myself."

The woman considered for a moment before relaxing. "Thank you, sir. My name is Helga."

"Salazar," he returned.

"Where are you going?" she continued.

"I'd love to know that myself," was his dry response. "North, that's all I know. Apparently my destiny awaits me somewhere beyond Hadrian's Wall."

Helga slowed almost to a stop. "Were you told this," she asked quietly, "or are you a Seer too?"

Salazar's head snapped around. "You are a Seer?" he repeated. "You've felt the pull?"

Helga nodded. "Like a fishhook behind my collarbone," she explained.

"I think, Helga, that it is no coincidence that we met today. I think that perhaps we are journeying towards the same destination."

The woman nodded. "I think that maybe you are right."

* * *

A birthday gift for my youngest sister (yes, I have many sisters. Two of the three actually read this!). Happy 11th, Snigs.

-Antares


	13. To Rest

Harry James Potter was many things. He was brother to Mark Potter, the supposed Boy-Who-Lived. They were estranged, yes, but they were still twins, still brothers. He was the true Boy-Who-Lived, though only his friends knew it. He was a Horcrux- a very unwilling Horcrux with every intention of changing that status- of the so-called Lord Voldemort. He was a consummate Slytherin, an embodiment of the best traits of their House. He was the long-awaited Lightning Speaker, the one chosen to restore and remake and break the world. He was the Moon Lord Pollux Ophion Riddle, who had just recently helped free the werewolves of Britain from their ancient curse. He was a powerful young wizard, a visionary, a leader. He was destined to change the world. He already _had_ changed the world! He was great already and on the road to even more greatness, more accomplishment.

He was also a thirteen-year-old boy with far, far too much on his slender shoulders.

The day after the werewolves withstood the full moon for the first time in their lives, Harry didn't wake up at his usual time. Remus Lupin, his godfather and guardian, thought nothing of it. Harry had stayed up late last night to watch over his people- and to receive their oaths of loyalty. The werewolf let his ward sleep in, reasoning that Harry deserved it. Tiptoeing out of their apartment, he headed for the docks.

He became a bit more concerned when, after returning from his long shift, he found that Harry still wasn't awake. The boy had apparently gotten up sometime that day- there were new dishes in the sink- but he was already in bed.

Remus rapped gently against his ward's bedroom door. "Harry?" he called. "You awake?"

Groans and shuffling answered him. A minute later, the boy himself opened the door. "Yes, Moony?" he asked, voice thick and dull.

"Harry, what happened to you?"

His godson looked terrible: paler than normal (which was saying something), his hair dull and flat, his reddened eyes underscored by ugly purple-black circles. He looked dead on his feet, nothing at all like the lively, happy boy he'd been a few days ago.

Or had he been? He'd been a bit quieter than usual, which Remus had chalked up to him growing up over the school year.

"Stupid question," he answered himself. "You're obviously exhausted."

A spark flickered in those green eyes. "I'm fine." He punctuated his denial with a yawn and a blush.

"Harry, when is the last time you took a day off?" Remus queried.

The boy thought for a long moment. "Define 'day off.'"

Oh boy. "A day off, as in you didn't do anything to try and save the world. A day off, as in you did things kids are supposed to do like playing or reading leisure books instead of training for war and breaking ancient curses."

Harry was forced to admit that he didn't know.

"I thought not," his godfather groaned. He rubbed his forehead. "All right, Harry, I want you to keep sleeping and eating for the rest of the day. Tomorrow, I just want you to relax."

Harry frowned. "But I have practice with Firenze," he pointed out.

He did. "All right. Other than training with Firenze, I want you to relax." It wouldn't do to offend the centaurs. Other than the werewolves, they were Pollux Riddle's only allies.

"You said I have to train three hours a day."

Oh, Merlin, he had. Dang it. Remus winced. "I suppose I did," he mumbled, wondering how to get around this. "But you're clearly too exhausted to-"

"I am not," Harry snapped, tiredness making him peevish. "I'm just fine, thank you very much." He drew himself up to his full (though not particularly intimidating) height. "I'm more than well enough to train and exercise."

The gears in Remus's brain whirled, searching for a way to fix this. He knew that, despite having Voldemort's memories, Harry still needed all the training and practice he could get. He couldn't afford to take too much time off. But he was also a boy, a child; even adults would stumble under the burdens he shouldered. The werewolf wasn't surprised at all that his godson was about to break; he was just shocked that it had taken this long. If Harry had been working constantly for so long that he couldn't remember his last break, then no wonder he was so tired. No wonder the stress had caught up with him right after the completion of his greatest task to date.

And no wonder that he was being stubborn about it. Harry had a work ethic that even Helga Hufflepuff would think was too much. The boy could be obsessive when he wanted to, which was not always a good thing.

"Six days a week," Remus finally decreed. "You can work as hard as you want to for six days a week, depending on Firenze's exercise schedule, but at least once every seven days you'll relax. Read a fun book, talk with your friends about normal kid things, go flying. Play pranks on Filch, if you want. Just don't overwork yourself. It's not healthy."

Harry did not look convinced.

Remus sighed again. "Go look in a mirror," he advised. "Then tell me if I'm crazy or not."

"I don't need to look in a mirror to answer that," Harry retorted, but he stumbled into the bathroom anyways. A yelp sounded from near the sink. "Merlin, I look horrible!"

"Exactly," Remus agreed. He continued, chipping away at his charge's armor, "And how long will it be until your friends end up in the same state? You should get together with them so you can schedule your days off. That way you won't have to worry about it."

Harry exited the bathroom, his pale face pink. "Maybe I should owl them now."

"Oh no you don't." Remus folded his arms. "Go back to sleep. I'll arrange a meeting for the day after tomorrow."

"Except with Hermione," Harry reminded him. "What with her vacation, and all."

"Of course. I'll talk with her once she gets back." Especially since she was likely the next to have a miniature breakdown, the next to work herself almost down to the bones. Like Harry, she had a tendency to push herself too hard. "Go back to bed, Pinions. Let someone else save your world for once."

The boy smiled, the exhaustion sliding away from his face. "Okay, Moony."

Remus smiled as his charge retreated into his room. The Dursleys had done a lot of damage, and Merlin knew that he was still inexperienced at this guardianship thing, but somehow, he and Harry would make it work.

* * *

Fluffy family fluff is fluffy and wonderful, don't you agree? Yeah. Me too.

Chapter 10 of Book 4 will be up in about ten minutes. See you then!

Also, I'm now taking prompts for this vignette series. Any requests, any questions you want answered? Just let me know!

-Antares


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